


Little Red Fluffle

by Soft_Fluffle



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Eventual Smut, F/M, Knotting, Little Red Fluffle AU, Little Red Riding Hood AU, Murder, Possible torture, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vaginal Sex, dark themes ahead y'all, the first many chapters are cute i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2020-10-05 08:49:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soft_Fluffle/pseuds/Soft_Fluffle
Summary: More tags to be added as the fic gets fleshed out over time.  OC-centric AU I made based off of a Tumblr post I saw forever ago that was based off of an online game I can't remember fdjkfndsvsdjBut, the gist of it is that sweet little Fluffle helps take care of a little old lady who lives just outside of the village she lives in at the base of the valley.  Fluffle feels rather estranged from the others living in this village, as she wasn't born and raised there like everyone else and has no ties and no friends.  She runs into a woodman a lot and eventually a wolf.  All the details are in the story's chapters.And, of course, warnings concerning what the chapters contain will be in the notes at the beginning of each chapter.  Enjoy!





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> No warnings for this chapter!

Once upon a time, in the base of a deep valley, there was a quiet village. While quiet, the village isn't very small population-wise. Every morning the market is bustling with people. Bakers, farmers, florists, craftsmen, and hunters alike try to sell their wares throughout the day and villagers are more than eager to buy. Getting through these crowds in the early hours of the day is difficult, especially if you aren't strong enough to push your way through.

One such lady struggles with it every day. A soft and gentle young woman by the name of Fluffle who nobody seems to know much about. She's lived in the village for several years now, but unlike everyone else, she was not born and raised in this community. Some of the villagers are more than happy to help the young woman get through the crowds; tapping shoulders and calling names to get people to move. Others leave her to struggle against the current of bodies. She has an important job to do, though, so no matter how difficult getting around the market is she absolutely must do it.

This job is doing the shopping and helping around the house of an elderly woman who lives further up the valley, more towards the mountains, deep in the woods. the paths are rarely traveled by anyone other than Fluffle, which, to some, makes them more dangerous. Fluffle isn't worried, though. She's been doing this for years, and even if she was worried it wouldn't stop her from doing what needs to be done.

the little old lady she does all this for, Margaret is her name, is very sweet. She makes fashionable cloaks and hooded capes in her free time and is where Fluffle got her lovely short, red cape. As a means of making money, Fluffle takes down commissions and measurement information from the townsfolk then delivers the finished product. If Margaret could make the journey, she says she would happily deliver the goods herself, but there's no way she could.

Sweet Margaret's old age is sure to catch up with her soon, though. That's what the townsfolk say, at least. No one is certain what will be the thing that kills her, whether it is her old age or the wolves they claim to live in those mountains, but she likely won't last much longer.

These are the comments Fluffle tries her best to tun out, as it always leads to another conversation: what will that Fluffle girl do when she does? It's not brought up by many, as very few in the village know anything about her at all. She talks to the shopkeepers the most often, but they've learned more about Margaret during those interactions than about her. To the villagers, she's quite the mystery.

Fluffle is quick to leave the village once she has everything on the list Margaret gave her the day before, things that should last for a few days. Mostly flour. Satisfied with the fullness of her basket, she weaves her way through the sparse crowd at the edge of the market area to make her way towards the path that leads into the woods. The path is much more worn now than when she had first arrived in the village, all thanks to her walking it twice a day over the years. She only ever sees one other person on this path. A nice enough woodsman by the name of Joxter, though he doesn't seem to be in his usual spot today. Perhaps he was in the marketplace and she just hadn't seen him...

or the most part, she finds that she's relieved to not see him this morning. Nice or not, something about his heavy gaze always makes her skin crawl. The way he continues whittling away with his knives when he talks to her and yet still makes complete eye contact - while an impressive skill - comes off as threatening...

She hasn't the time to think of him, though. Margaret has a special bread recipe she wants to teach Fluffle today. Not to mention there's a garden to tend to, a house to clean. The house can never go a day without needing a good tidying. With Margaret's little sewing business, loose thread, needles, pins, and buttons all end up everywhere.

Tucking the handle of the basket into the bend of her arm, she pulls the hood of her cape over her head. her soft ginger hair bunches near her face and spills out the front of the hood once it's up. With a soft tune in the air and a spring in her step, she begins the trek up the mountain path.

-

So they didn't have quite everything needed for the bread Margaret wanted to make today. They still did plenty of other things. Fluffle even got the chance to practice some embroidery stitching on some scrap fabric as she insists on eventually helping Margaret with her cloaks and capes in some way someday. The elderly woman appreciates her efforts to help. She understands the young woman won't take no for an answer even though Margaret insists she does too much already.

Margaret doesn't make a lot of money from sewing capes and such, but it's usually enough for a week's worth of food and whatever else she may need for her home. The only money Fluffle makes are the small added charges for her delivering the goods, but she insists it's enough.

And enough it is. Fluffle hardly has to worry about feeding herself most days as Margaret always insists she eats most meals with her. And if the young woman doesn't stay for dinner, Margaret makes sure she's sent home with her basket filled up with goods that they baked throughout the day. It's a sweet gesture, and one she greatly appreciates.

Since they didn't get to make much this day, Margaret insists Fluffle stay and have some soup for dinner. She doesn't get to leave until she insists she can eat no more! Fluffle leaves the home in high spirits, as usual, and a new shopping list for the next morning tucked at the bottom of her basket. The evening is calm, cool. What of the sky she can see through all the trees is painted a deep orange. It will be a dark blue by the time she reaches the village again. She tugs her hood over her head once more, tucks her basket in its usual place at the bend of her arm, and starts walking.

The nights are usually quiet, save for the occasional song of a night bird and the chirps of bugs. Sometimes she can hear the sound of her feet hitting the dirt, but she walks so softly that it's rare. It's just another calm night walking home after a busy day. All is calm. All is quiet.

Something disturbs the brush along the trail, rustling the leaves violently. Fluffle immediately halted in her tracks. Her mind races as the noise gets louder. Everyone in the village is always talking about the wolves in these woods, is this the moment she sees one? She doubts she'll live to see another one if one crosses her path now.

The rustling stops.

Silence.

Fluffle screams as something darts out across the path. Something she now recognizes as a rabbit. She can hear her heartbeat, feel it thrumming in her head and throat. She gives a quiet laugh. Did she work herself up over a rabbit? She's walked this path for years and has never seen a wolf, and she doubts that will change. The villagers never come near the woods, so how could they possibly know what lurks in its shadows?


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter.

The next morning is the same as the one before it. The market is bustling, but Fluffle is out much quicker than before. Her list was shorter today since Margaret only needs a few vegetables that aren't growing in her garden and a pound of meat. She decided to grab some thread, too. A seamstress can never have too much of that, surely.

She tucks her basket into her arm as she begins her walk up the forest path but stops at a familiar noise. Light humming, just loud enough to be heard over the scraping of a knife on wood. Fluffle continues her light steps forward after making sure her hood is pulled up.

He sits on an old tree stump just up the small incline. he wears a red flannel never fully buttoned, the sleeves always rolled up just above the elbows. It's the first thing anybody would notice when crossing paths with him as everything else is quite common and blends in well with the surrounding wood: dark blue denim pants tucked into brown boots.

"Good morning, Joxter." She gives a greeting but does not stop in her walking. She needs to hurry on her way.

Dark blue eyes lift from their focus on the wood and meet her much lighter blues, effectively freezing her in her tracks. His eyes are tired, they always seem to be. They are also cold and distant and don't warm up much when he finally gives a smile.

"G'morning, Fluffle." He returns her greeting. The knife slows down against the wood but doesn't stop carving. Fluffle can't help but watch with slight unease as the blade shaves away at the softwood's surface.

Fluffle gives a quick nod and starts to turn down the path again when he calls out, "You've heard about the wolves, haven't you?"

She quirks a brow saying she's heard the villagers talking about them, but they always have and she's yet to see a single one. Joxter's eyes narrow in a way that demands to be taken seriously. A shiver runs up her spine at the look. Whatever he's about to say is no villager's tale.

He tells her about a wolf trying to get into his hunting shed next to his home the night before. He's used to small things looking for an easy meal, but to come out to see a wolf... It was a terrifying ordeal, one he doesn't go into a lot of detail about. He lets her know the wolf is dead, but that doesn't mean it was the only one in the area. The wood is likely crawling with the beasts.

"So, you had best be careful on your walks through here. One of them may snatch you up and eat you." He laughs about how she's so soft and small, easier pickings than any other live prey wolves hunt.

Fluffle swallows a lump in her throat, but it doesn't go away. It sounds quite terrifying, crossing paths with these creatures, but she can't let that stop her. Margaret needs her... and she needs Margaret, too.

A small smile tugs at the man's lips. "I could always walk with you, dear Fluffle."

She quickly declines his offer, "Thank you, but no... that won't be necessary. I can manage just fine."

The woodsman settles back in his seat again, returning his gaze to his whittling. "Just be careful. I don't know where you lived before you came here, but the wolves are very different from any you've ever seen or heard of, I'm sure. They speak to you. Try to lure you in with soft, sweet words and kind eyes. And once they have you, it's over." With that last sentence, he cuts out a large piece of wood from his project - an action Fluffle takes as an emphasis on the fact that if one does catch her she'll die.

She thanks him for his warning and hurries up the path. His heavy gaze is felt on her back the whole time it's turned to him, all the way until she rounds a corner and heads up another path completely covered by trees. The lovely song of birds and the wind through the leaves takes the edge off of her thoughts, distracts her from the other sounds that would have made her jump.

She's always been happy to arrive at Margaret's house, but never has she been relieved to get off the forest path. Her fear isn't realized until she notices how quickly she approaches the door and with what urgency she twists the knob to open the door. She's safe now, though.

The day is filled with normal activities. Margaret sews whilst Fluffle goes about cleaning. They chat about nothing in particular. Things like Margaret's sewing and how the village is doing. The old woman knows Fluffle doesn't have much down in the village. She spends so much time up here with her that she's never built any connections with the people in the valley. Margaret feels bad about it, but she can't see how well she would get along for long periods without the sweet young woman present. Standing for long periods of time to do things like cook and clean kills her back and knees. Sewing and reading are about the only things she can still do.

There's never been a day where Fluffle didn't enjoy being here, though. Something tells her she wouldn't fit in very well with the folks of the town. A town where everybody knows everybody. Inserting yourself into groups already so tightly woven is very difficult. That's something Joxter told her, saying he had tried himself before. The only time he can seem to get along with them, though, is when he's selling the surplus from his hunts and lumbering that he doesn't need. Seeing as Fluffle has nothing to offer to the markets, she doesn't see how she could possibly fit in at all.

Towards the end of the day when there are only a few hours before Fluffle will head home, they begin to prepare the recipe Margaret had been wanting to teach her the previous day. It's a kind of meat pie, filled with a thick stew. The recipe makes quite a few pies, and what stew was left over the two eat for dinner. Before Margaret heads to bed she makes sure FLuffle has more than enough of the pies piled into her basket. They should take care of some of her meals for the next week. She covers the basket with a towel and thanks Margaret.

Before she heads out, she takes care of cleaning up their cooking mess and dinner dishes. Something Margaret tells her not to worry about, but she refuses to leave them overnight. It's much darker than when she usually leaves. The path is dark, only visible because its color is so much lighter than the brush surrounding it. She doesn't think to pull her hood over her head as she usually does. Instead, she starts quickly down the path, not quite running, but definitely too fast to be considered walking.

A rustle in the brush halfway down the path has her frozen in her tracks. She thinks to laugh off her fear as she had the night before when it was but a rabbit that startled her. She can't, though. the eyes that gleam with moonlight within the foliage are far too large to something as small and harmless as a rabbit or a squirrel.

The beast slinks out of the brush to block her path forward, a low growl emitting from its throat. Ears stick straight up from the head of hair, a fluffy tail sticks out straight and slightly raised, the fur bristled. The moon gleams off of angry eyes and sharp, bared teeth. The body is very humanoid, though, and is clothed. Fluffle thinks that this can't possibly be a wolf. But then she remembers Joxter's works from this morning about how the wolves around here are nothing like them anywhere else. She hadn't expected the difference to be quite so drastic. A speaking dog was easier for her to believe than a person with animal characteristics.

A sharper snarl from the beast startles her from her thoughts. She has to do something, but she knows running will get her nowhere. She's not strong enough to fight either.

The wolf brings itself off of its hands to stand only on its legs and starts to lurch forward. All Fluffle can think to do is push her basket in front of her. The creature falters. unsure of what to make of the gesture, he sniffs at the basket. Upon smelling food, it snatches the carrier out of the woman's hands. She yelps softly at the violent gesture. In moments, the basket is just short of empty and the creature flees.

Fluffle spends several moments standing stock still and wide-eyed. Once the shock fades enough for her to move, she shakily walks forward to pick up her basket. The towel that had been covering it is ripped to pieces. It can hardly be considered a towel anymore. It'll have to be thrown away. Left inside the carrier are five of the pies. Hardly enough to last her a whole week, but she can make them last.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warning. Enjoy!

The thought of going into the woods again is distressing after the previous night's events. The previous night, Fluffle dreamt of glowing eyes and sharp teeth circling her cowering form. They did not press closer, simply moving around her too close for her to rest peacefully. The low rumble of the creature's growl echoed throughout the void. She awakes in a sweat when the wolf does lunge, gasping and grabbing at her throat she was so sure was nearly torn open; she could almost feel the claws of the beast digging through her nightgown.

She spends several minutes bringing herself back to her reality. She's in her bed, in her home, in the village. She's not in the woods. There is not and was not a wolf attacking her.

But it had all felt so real.

As she doesn't need to go to the market today, she takes her time preparing herself for the walk through the woods. She has some tea to soothe her nerves before she gets dressed - her hands are shaking far too much to fasten and unfasten buttons. Dandelion tea is her go-to for mornings after nightmare-ridden nights. It's simple and bitter in taste; perfect for forcing her senses awake along with the rest of her.

She dresses slowly, hands still shaking a little as she counts every button on her blouse and every lace in her skirt to distract her thoughts from returning to the one thing that now plagues her mind. How long have there been wolves in those woods? In all the years she's walked the path she's never run into a single one. The only times she's even heard of their existence is when the townsfolk whispered about them. Yet only now, after five years of living here, are they showing themselves.

With slightly trembling hands, she fastens her cape. They don't get much steadier from this point forward as she grabs the handle of her basket. If her gloves weren't obscuring them, one could see how her grip turns her knuckles white.

_Will it still be there,_ she can't help but wonder as she approaches the incline into the woods. Will the wolf be waiting there for her again? Her mind is racing with possibilities. She has no food on her right now. Nothing to offer if it is waiting. She's certain she will be eaten if she crosses the beast's path again.

With that thought, she stops. She takes a long, shaky breath to pull herself together. Everything will be fine.

"You look quite troubled, Fluffle." Joxter's voice pierces through her haze of thoughts and worries, startling her so much that she jumps. "A little skittish, aren't we?"

"You startled me is all," Fluffle says softly, her eyes drawn to the rifle leaning against the tree stump the man sits on. She tries to bring her eyes up to his face, but they stop on his hands. He whittles effortlessly still even without looking at his work. "I didn't notice you there."

Her usual cheerful demeanor is overshadowed with doubt, her light blue eyes dark with worry. This is the first thing Joxter notices, aside from her clearly distracted state of being. It's very unlike her to be unfocused and so full of concern. "Did you run into one last night?" Fluffle asks him to clarify what he means - even though she's sure she knows. "A wolf, you silly little thing," the woodsman teases with a small smile before his eyes get serious, and he stops his knife work. Fluffle brings her eyes up to his now that the fascinating - yet threatening - display ends. "That's the only explanation I can think of for your jumpiness."

She knows where this is going. He'll stand up, grab his gun, and insist on walking with her. To keep her _safe_. Guns don't make her feel safe, though, and neither do pushy men who are a head or more taller than she is. She understands he means well, but it just doesn't feel right.

"I'm fine, Joxter," she starts, finding the strength to put on a small smile, "just a night of restless sleep. It happens to everyone."

Joxter, who had begun pocketing his woodwork, pauses. He stares at her with deep oceans of blue that seem to soak in every trace of the lie she spoke. Was it a lie, though? It is due to the dream that she's in her present state. All the same, she shrinks under his intense gaze, afraid the waters may swallow her, too.

He finally blinks, a small smile crossing his mouth as he repositions himself comfortable on the stump. His gaze is once again focused on his knife and wood. Fluffle quickly bids him farewell and trots up the path to Margret's.

Her heart doesn't stop racing for several minutes. The harsh thrumming against her ribcage makes walking the path uncomfortable, and she finds herself frequently pausing to take short breaks to catch her breath before continuing. She tries to focus on the lovely sounds of nature around her to distract from the two colliding trains of thought - one of the wolf, the other the woodsman, neither particularly pleasant.

She begins tuning out the ocean of sound in her head and chest, tuning in to the songs of birds, frogs, and... something else. It's not quite a growl, it's not aggressive enough. It sounds more... content? Fluffle comes around a bend in the path and sees something vaguely familiar. She wouldn't recognize it at all were it not for the meat pie in its hand... paw?

It's the wolf from last night. It has to be. At the same time, though, she's hardly sure it can be. She remembers the wolf having a vaguely humanoid shape, but this just looks like a person - rather lanky person - with certain wolf characteristics. The only skin she can see is that of his pale face framed by shaggy, mousey brown hair. What draws her attention the most is the similarly colored tail wagging happily as he finishes the treat.

One wrong step has FLuffle tripping over a raised tree root in the path. She stumbles, her steps quiet but her gasp of surprise loud in the mostly silent forest. The wolf's head snaps in her direction, tail stopping abruptly, golden-brown eyes meet with baby blue. His face bunches up in aggression, fangs bared as he gets lower to the ground; ears laid back, hair and tail bristled he slowly slinks out onto the path in front of her.

Fluffle can't unlock her panicked gaze from that of the angry creature before her. Her hands shake violently as she puts them out in front of her. She can't seem to manage a full three words, much less a full sentence, to explain she has no intention of hurting him.

He stops growling and puts away his teeth. Slowly, still on all fours, he makes his way over to her. She stands stock-still the whole time. He's close enough for her to see the flecks of gold in his irises, the dark circles under his eyes. it's unnerving to have him so near.

He sniffs at her basket first. No doubt it still smells of the pies from last night, but he notices it's empty and moves on to smell her skirts. Seemingly satisfied with them, he quickly stands. He's a good head taller than Fluffle for a moment before he hunches down, darting behind around behind her to smell her hair. Her breathing is shaky, but silent the whole time his face is pressed against her hair. Tears well in her eyes and she's certain she's going to die.

And then he circles back in front of her. His eyes look her up and down a final time before shaking his head. "It's not you."

She's taken aback by how gentle his voice is. "What?" she asks while blinking back tears.

"You're not the one." He says, "You didn't kill our pack member."

"No, of course not. I could never..." her voice is soft, but the emotion in it is raw. She could never kill anything, not even hunt for food. She can handle skinning and preparing something, but she could never do the killing herself.

The wolf seems to understand, and runs off. She doesn't see him again that night.

Except for in her dreams.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings, enjoy!

Several days pass, and with each night that follows come dreams plagued by the wolf and woodsman. She sees them fight, the wolf lunging with claws and teeth while the woodsman's weapon always seems to change; it is most commonly his axe, though. Every time she dreams this dream, she awakes before the final blow can be dealt, and she's never sure who the victor would have been. And she's not sure she would be happy with either outcome. She can't stand the thought of either dying, but both presences bring her life nothing but an overwhelming sense of nervousness and fear.

An overhanging sense of death.

She hasn't run into the wolf in a few days. Not exactly. She sees him along the edges of the path sometimes; only quick flashes of a muted yellow scarf during the day time, golden eyes reflecting the moonlight at her at night. But he doesn't approach her. Not yet.

After several days of Fluffle not sleeping well and arriving at Margaret's home in much too tired a state, the woman insists the girl take a day for herself. A day to rest and relax. When you constantly wake from nightmares, though, there is very little resting to be done. Even less relaxing when all your thoughts do is race with what-ifs.

A day to herself, away from Margaret... It's a strange concept to Fluffle. She hasn't ever taken much time to herself before. The idea of spending a day alone is foreign. She sees now just how reliant she is on the kindly woman for companionship.

A trip to the market will be required for the day, but before she does there is something she feels she ought to do.

She walks to the path in the woods like she does every day, stopping at the top of the incline. Where Joxter usually sits is empty. There's no sign he's been there at all today. She supposes she's earlier than is normal for her, but she always thought he spent a decent portion of his morning perched on the stump.

A loud, dull thwack brings her out of her thoughts. Another one, followed by another. As only one other person is ever in these woods, she knows exactly who it is. Though, she's not certain what he's doing. With careful steps, she starts up the path opposite the one she usually takes. As she proceeds, the noise gets louder until she comes to a small clearing, in which works the man she's looking for.

For once, he's not wearing his red flannel. It hangs off of a low-hanging branch of a tree instead, leaving his upper half clad in only a thin undershirt. She watches his back as he brings something over his head to quickly bring it back down in front of him. She recognizes the tool as a maul - a tool far too heavy for her to ever lift herself. The identification of the tool in addition to the sound of wood splitting on a chopping block helps her realize that he must be chopping wood this morning. He rolls his shoulders before straightening his stance, moving forward to straighten one of the halves of the log he just split to chop it smaller.

She's never seen him like this. Only ever hunched over his whittling, looking up at her. She has seen him standing before, but his posture was very relaxed then. Now, she sees the exact difference between the two of them. She can feel the difference in their heights despite the fact she's nowhere close to him. Despite the slight fear that settles in her chest, she can feel her cheeks flush a rosier hue than they usually are as she observes the muscles flexing under the thin tanktop.

It's when she raises her hand to feel the rising of temperature in her fact that she notices him looking over his shoulder at her. Her face only gets redder, and she stumbles over her words. "Good morning, Joxter... You, ah, weren't in your usual spot today..."

He wipes his face on his forearm before giving her a small smile. He picks the maul back up, turning back to the chopping block. "I don't usually get there until later on wood splitting mornings. Were you worried about me?" The idea that Fluffle might have made a bit of a fuss over his being missing made his heart soar, but these thoughts are shortlived.

"No, not really." She clarifies, "This isn't the first time I've not seen you there. I just... needed to talk to you." Joxter pauses his movements just before he gets the maul into position over his head. He lets the words sink in for a moment. Fluffle is always so quick to run away from their conversations...

"I can see you're quite busy, though, so... maybe another time will be better."

And there it is. The attempt to flee.

"No," Joxter calls out to her, quickly lowering the maul and grabbing her wrist. Her wrist is so small compared to his hand. She is so small compared to him. Her skin, pale and soft, is a stark contrast to his which has been darkened by the sun and calloused by heavy work. He's a good head taller than her, arms twice as thick as hers and covered in dark hair. Fluffle regains her senses enough to lightly tug her arm free from him and take a step back. "I don't mind the company. You can talk to me while I work." His smile looks genuine, but, like always, it never seems to reach his eyes.

Quietly, Fluffle walks over to another stump not being used for wood splitting and sits on it. Joxter glances over his shoulder at her, as her chosen seat is slightly behind him. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I want to ask what you know about the wolves around here," Fluffle responds, continuing when he asks why. "The stories from the town haunt my sleep. I thought that maybe if I know more about them, I'll be able to rest better at night." She flinches when he splits the log in front of him with a single swing. "You've run into one. I figure what you tell me is likely more credible than rumors passed amongst the village."

Deep blue eyes meet hers for a brief moment once again before he hauls the maul over his head. He talks between swings of the tool and while he arranges the logs for splitting. "Well, as I told you before, they aren't like wolves you've likely heard of outside of the village." He sees her nod in his peripheral vision. He talks again of wolves that lure people into the dark wood with words, intricately woven lies, promises, and false cries for help. Eyes too big, too wide to belong to any animal. The teeth, the claws, everything. But he skirts around one fact until the very end. "I know this might all sound strange. You're probably picturing some deformed, overgrown dog, but they aren't. They-"

"Look like us..." Fluffle mutters under her breath. Her words don't go unnoticed, though. Joxter's full attention is on her now. He's never mentioned that to her the last time they spoke about the creatures which prowl these woods.

"How did you know that?" He asks, and she freezes. There is a harsh, serious look in his eyes that makes her cower as he approaches and kneels in front of her. "Fluffle, how did you-" He reaches out to tilt her face to look at him, but she quickly flinches back. "You've seen one." Her eyes flick to his for the briefest moment, regretting having said something. "Why didn't you say something? I'll-"

She cuts him off, "No. I can't stand the thought of someone killing the things. They look so much like us, it's can't be much different than killing a person." Joxter argues back that they're monsters. That it's completely different. He should escort her to her work from now on, it's much too dangerous.

"It's fine, Joxter. I just saw it, it never came near me." She says it so defensively. It's a lie, but he won't know that. He'd be insistent on going with her, of hunting the creature down to kill it. Or... would the wolf - possibly knowing that Joxter was the one to kill a member of his pack - kill Joxter? It's as unpredictable as the dream she keeps having. "The wolf didn't harm me. We simply saw each other once and went our separate ways."

Joxter stares at her in bafflement, as though nothing she said made any sense.

"Not all creatures that can be dangerous are."

Taking a deep breath, Fluffle stands. Joxter barely backs up for her to do so, her skirt brushing his nose and cheek. His eyes don't leave her face. "If there's nothing else you can tell me, I guess I'll be on my way."

"The only other information I can offer is how to kill them," Joxter admits, averting his eyes from hers. Fluffle heaves a soft sigh.

"Good day, Joxter." She says as she turns to depart. As much as he would like to ask her to stay and keep him company for a while longer, he knows she won't want to. He watches her as she leaves, and she can feel it. Feel his eyes raking over her body. She shudders, quickening the pace. She doesn't hear the sounds of him resuming his wood splitting until she's for sure out of sight from the clearing. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this one! Enjoy, and sorry it's taken so long to update!

The walks through the woods always feel dangerous now. It’s rare that the wolf approaches her during the day, the only times he does is to sniff at her clothes before scurrying off. At night, he will occasionally snatch something from her basket if there’s any food in it – something she finds incredibly rude, but is far too scared of possible repercussions if she were to try to stop him. He doesn’t walk on all fours around her anymore, either, but she’s not sure if that’s a good thing. How he looms over her so easily is unsettling, and it feels, to her, that it would be easier to attack her like that.

It would be easy to attack her either way. She knows this. The words of Joxter telling her so long ago how someone as small and soft as herself would be easy pickings for the wolves echoing in her head don’t help her tension.

Joxter had no advice to offer her unless she was willing to kill the beast. She knows, though, that it wouldn’t have been her killing it, both he and she know she couldn’t do it even if she wanted to. Fluffle refrains from talking to Joxter about wolves now, always lying and telling him that she hasn’t seen the wolf recently.

She has, though. Almost every day since the first encounter with him.

Today is no different. While she’s walking up the path to Margaret’s, she catches sight of the wolf whose name – if he has one – she does not know. It feels strange to think she sees someone so often but doesn’t know something so basic about them. She knows the names of every shop owner in the village, even if she hardly speaks to them outside of business transactions.

Their eyes lock for a moment as she’s walking past and can’t help but notice the dark circles lining his eyes. His gaze seems distant and empty. It’s like he’s not looking at her at all despite their obvious eye contact. He’s on another plane of tired from what she’s used to seeing in the eyes of mothers in the village or in the hardworking woodsman. The eyes of someone who has been searching tirelessly for someone, something. Hunting day and night, but never catching what they’re looking for. She leaves him to his pondering, but doesn’t quicken her pace.

If Fluffle is to be honest with herself, she’s not even certain she considers the wolf a threat. The only threat he’s posed thus far is to the contents of her basket during her evening walk home. She reminds herself, though, that she shouldn’t get comfortable with his presence. If she’s to let her guard down, he may take the opportunity to strike.

But what if he doesn’t?

She can’t help but explore the wat-ifs of this creature not wanting to attack her at all, but simply being hungry. Hunting must be very difficult when there’s a woodsman on the lookout for your kind. A woodsman that’s already killed at least one of your pack.

The wolf follows behind her down the path this night, though. He seems attentive as ever to what her basket might contain. The vegetables he can easily overlook, but he smells the meat pies again. They were delicious the first time, better than anything else he’s ever eaten.

The wolf makes to snatch a few from her yet again, but, in a moment of bravery, Fluffle pulls the basket in front of her and away from his grabby paws. She stops. He stops as well. Pivoting on her heel, she turns to face him, her face being cast in shadows from her hood makes her impossible to read. Only the frown tugging at her lips is clearly visible at the moment, telling him she’s not happy with his actions. He takes a small step back. Now that he’s not so close to her he can see how she’s looking up at him rather than at the ground. She doesn’t seem as afraid as she was the last time he saw her face – the first time he saw her, in fact. He’s only ever seen her back during the night walks since their first encounter. Her blue eyes don’t reflect the moon back at him like every other creature he’s met. Rather, the moon shines in them, mixed with the small traces of fear that cling to her irises.

For her, looking up at the beast is one of the scariest things she’s ever done. She’s not known for being brave. The bravest thing she’s ever been known to do is continue to walk these trails despite their potential dangers. Never has she stared up into the face of something so dangerous. Or… not something everyone for sure agrees on the danger levels of. The moonlight glares off of his eyes at her, making his confused gaze look a lot more malicious than it really is.

“We…” She swallows a lump in her throat, “we aren’t going to get anywhere if all you do is stalk about and steal from me.”

She has some nerve trying to tell him what he can and can’t do.

“The least you can do is tell me your name.” She can’t help but to flinch at how quickly his gaze narrows at the statement. “I’m sure you’ve got one, yes?”

The beast nods, but says nothing.

“It doesn’t sit well with me,” she admits. She doesn’t like that she knows nothing of someone she lets take from her so often and so easily. She had never thought to stop him before, for fear that being denied her meals may make her into one, so what’s got her so adamant about it now? “I think… if I know at least this… I would feel better about what was being taken. Maybe, this way it will feel more like sharing between acquaintances.” Her voice gets quieter as she speaks, he can still hear her clear as day, though. The more she says, the more idiotic it sounds.

Her gaze has long fallen from his to meet that of the stones on the dirt path. Perhaps asking the name of the monster that stalks about the path was a stupid idea. She takes a deep breath and looks back up at him – perhaps a little too quickly, as the wolf backs away at the sudden movement.

“I’ll go first.” She offers, slowly extending her hand between the two of them. The skin is pale in the moonlight, alerting her to the fact she had forgotten her gloves at Margaret’s. She can worry about that later, though. “My name is Fluffle.”

The wolf bends over slightly to inspect her hand. Large, half-lidded eyes blink owlishly at the unfamiliar gesture. He sniffs lightly at her fingers before straightening himself again. Fluffle never considered that handshaking likely isn’t common outside of human cultures. Her cheeks flush lightly in embarrassment. How foolish of her.

“You put your ha – er… Paw out.” she instructs and though he is hesitant to do so, he does as instructed. She slowly brings her shaking hand closer to his paw, earning a soft growl from the looming creature. She flinches again, moving even slower than before. Her hand eventually meets with his paw, and gently wraps her fingers around it. The fur is soft, dark. She’s not sure why she expected anything different. Perhaps it’s his gruff appearance that makes him seem so bristled all the time. A shudder runs up her spine when he returns the gesture. His claws dig gently into her soft skin, but not in a malicious manner.

Fluffle brings her eyes from their clasped hands up to his face, eyes gleaming expectantly.

“Snufkin.” He mutters his name softly, and a small smile crosses the young woman’s face. She carefully lets go of his paw, and he’s slow to follow suit. “You know, I could have hurt you.”

“You didn’t, though.” With a small smile, Fluffle reaches into her basket and pulls out a few of the meat pies and holds them out to Snufkin. “It’s nice to finally have a name to put with a face.”

It takes everything in him to not snatch the food out of her hands. At least, she thinks that’s why his paws are shaking so much when he takes them from her. Once the food is in hand, he takes off, and Fluffle continues on her way home.

That night, her dreams are not of violence. However, they are not full of pleasant things, either. Instead, she dreams of walking down the forest path at night, the path seemingly never ending, never able to reach her destination. Predatory eyes watching her every step.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings uwu, enjoying Fluffle and Snufkin bonding time

Fluffle’s always been an early riser, no matter how terrible the sleep the night before had been, or if she is needed at Margaret’s or not. Today is a day she gets to herself. The last time she took one of these, she went to talk to Joxter – a talk she wonders if she ought to regret. This time, however, she’s decided to do something completely for herself. She tucks a small lunch into her basket, and sets out on her walk to the woods.

The woods surrounding the valley are nice, but the ones near the path Fluffle has taken every day are bountiful with mushrooms. Chanterelles and Porcinis are the most common to be found, but if she’s lucky she hopes to find some maitakes. Of course, any other edible mushroom she comes across will be considered a good find, too.

The autumn breeze is crisp, not too cold, but not incredibly warm. Perfect weather, she thinks as she bypasses the market. Soon, she’s passed by Joxter’s usual spot – his absence and the sound of a maul hitting wood in the distance tell her it’s woodchopping day for him – and she stops at the forest path. She sees a face that’s grown to be familiar to her once she rounds the curve of the path. A smile is offered to Snufkin as she steps off the path.

“Where are you going?” he’s quick to ask. He’s never seen her go off the path before.

“I’m going mushroom picking.” Fluffle answers, not stopping her slow descent of the steep hill. “You’re welcome to tag along, if you like.” She doesn’t expect him to, but if he did decide to there’s nothing she could do to stop him. He’s a wild creature, he’ll come and go as he pleases.

He does tag along, though. Making his way down the slope from the dirt path with a lot more ease than Fluffle is. He stays close by, avoiding brambles and thorn bushes as he gets just a little ahead of her. She envies his agility. She stops when he freezes suddenly, ears perked. Snufkin dives into the brush around an old tree stump, successfully hiding himself from view.

Fluffle is unsure why until she hears her name being called. Her eyes are drawn back up to the path where Joxter stands, flannel draped over one shoulder while he holds his maul over it, successfully holding the piece of clothing in place. Snufkin was easy enough to hide amongst the foliage, but Fluffle, dressed in bright red, stood out in the sea of green and brown like a large fly agaric mushroom.

“What are you doing down there, Fluffle?” The woodsman calls as he approaches the edge of the path.

Fluffle responds by raising her basket into the air with a simple, “Mushroom hunting.”

“Would you like me to come along?” Concern laces itself into his words making obvious his concern about her going deeper into the woods alone. Probably worried about the wolves.

She answers, “No thanks,” and keeps on trekking down the hill. It takes a couple moments before the woodsman disappears back over the path’s ledge, and Snufkin slinks out of his hiding spot. Quickly, he catches up with Fluffle at the base of the hill.

Snufkin sniffs at the air to see if he can recognize the man’s scent, but no luck. All he can smell is Fluffle and the contents of her basket. “Who was that?”

“That’s Joxter. He’s… an acquaintance of mine.” Fluffle leaves it at that, afraid to say more. She’s not sure if she should mention he’s very likely the man who killed the pack member Snufkin mentioned, afraid of the violent outcome for surely Snufkin would go after Joxter if he knew. She doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want either of them to die, no matter how unsettling being around the both of them can be.

After a bit of meandering through the grass and trees, Fluffle spots something. Excitement evident in every movement, she kneels to the ground in front of a tree, moving some shrubbery to the side and plucks up a large porcini. She smiles, placing it in her basket and picks some more from the spot.

“You… eat these?” Snufkin asks, observing the odd shape and texture of the fungi.

“They’re terrific in stews. There were some in every batch of those meat pies you like so much.”

He gives a nod, making note of this. He’s not sure how thrilled his pack would be if he tried to add them to any of their meals, though.

She goes about like this for hours, picking mushrooms and explaining her favorite meals to make with them. It’s making him very hungry. It’s right about when he’s considering leaving to find something to eat that she stops. A large slab of rock covered in moss is her new target, and she climbs up on it to sit. She smiles at him from her new perch that puts her at eye level with him. He merely leans against the stone. Pushing her mushrooms aside in her basket, she lifts the cloth lining the bottom to reveal a sandwich well protected from the dirt coating some of her tasty treasures. She offers half of it to him. He accepts.

It’s a simple enough sandwich, not that Snufkin is familiar with them. The bread is thick, oats baked into the crust; it has a vaguely sweet taste. The meat, a mixture of turkey and ham, is sliced thin and carefully arranged so no bite has too much of either. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure about the vegetables being on it, but they do add a certain freshness to the meal. His half is gone very quickly whilst Fluffle takes her time, taking smaller bites while she also admires the area.

The rock she sits on is surprisingly comfortable, and the area surrounding it is full of such vibrant colors. Late autumn sunlight glitters gently through the trees, highlighting their reds and yellows, casting gentle shadows on the moss that decorates the forest floor. The smell of honeysuckle is faint, but it clings to the air as cold weather begins to sweep the valley. And for the first time in a while, Fluffle feels at peace.

Even the wolf, Snufkin, doesn’t seem half as much of a threat as she’s thought him to be. Or, more as Joxter insisted he is. As he enters her thoughts again, she looks over at him. Their eyes meet. She’s not sure if it’s the lighting or if her really is well-rested, but he doesn’t look so tired for once. She gives him a sweet smile.

  
His tails wags for a moment before he grows flustered and avoids her gaze. Fluffle giggles softly at this. On skin as pale as his, his blush is quite obvious. And though she’s no expert on wolf behavior, she’s quite certain the wagging of his tail is a happy sign.

She turns back to eating her sandwich, finishing it off as quickly as she can so they can start walking again. Once she’s back on her feet and turns to face Snufkin again, she’s surprised to find his face so close to hers. He moves quickly, causing her to flinch. She feels something wet on her cheek and corner of her mouth. His tongue? When she opens her eyes again, she finds he’s blushing a lot harder than before. Then, he runs off before she can say anything.

Fluffle finds her cheeks heating up, a dark pink coating her cheeks. She quietly rubs her sleeve against her cheek before beginning her walk back home. She tried to figure out what the gesture could have meant. Not how he licked her face, but how he grew flustered an ran away.

The wolf’s gaze doesn’t haunt her dreams after that day. Instead, the eyes surrounding her seem to be tinted blue.


End file.
